


Ravished and Rescued

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale has any Effort you like, Blow Jobs, Captured!, Coitus Interruptus, Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley loves to be the hero, Drama queens, Fingering, Hand Jobs, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, M/M, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Other, Pillow Principality, Pirates, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Purple Prose, Rape Fantasy, Regency Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Slut-Shaming, Stockholm Syndrome, Theft, Vandalism, begging for mercy, depending on the Effort you have chosen for Aziraphale, first-time fantasy, hardly any Pirates of Penzance quotes, hijinks on the high seas, intercourse of some variety, ish, it's all part of the fantasy, not in the way you're imagining, or maybe so, piratical pornography, really you should be admiring the author's restraint, ridiculous codswallop, romance novel tropes, shameless misuse of historical landmarks, they're both giant dorks okay, yo hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro
Summary: Aziraphale swelled to his full height, brimming with indignation. “I’m a lieutenant in the King’s navy, and I will defend this ship!”The brigand smirked. “And who will defend you, you toothsome thing?” He jumped down to the deck and knocked Aziraphale’s sword away with his pistol before he had time to breathe. Aziraphale gaped in outrage as his weapon clattered to the deck. Golden eyes raked him from stem to stern. “I begin to think I have better uses for you than fishbait.” A hot hand ran down the side of Aziraphale’s face and then fisted in his coat. “Perhaps you would better serve me on your knees.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 158
Kudos: 446
Collections: Hot Omens, Top Crowley Library





	Ravished and Rescued

**Author's Note:**

> ileolai had this idea that Aziraphale would want to be pounded by both the villain and the hero. And that both, of course, should be played by Crowley in some kind of ridiculous fantasy roleplay. This idea is entirely correct. I am grateful for the inspiration.

Lieutenant Aziraphale frowned into the night as the men made haste to bring the ship about, too late, too late. The other ship, the wind filling its black sails, was almost upon them, and their late engagement with the French had left them limping, short of shot and powder. He could already hear the shouts of the vile beasts as they made ready to board. The captain barked orders and Aziraphale supported their few remaining men to load their few remaining cannon, hastily drew his sword, and prepared for the worst.

“Ahoy, bilge rat,” came a voice from above. “You are boarded. Surrender or die.”

Aziraphale looked up. There, clinging nimbly to the shrouds and picked out by starlight swung a fearsome pirate clad all in black, remarkable rusty hair gathered into a tousled queue, shirt billowing about his spare frame, gun belt slung low accentuating his lithe hips. He was pointing a pistol at Aziraphale’s heart.

“You won’t take me without a fight, you villain!” cried Aziraphale, brandishing his sword.

The pirate smiled, a gloating grin that spread all the way up to his eyes. “A fight, eh? We’ll soon see about that.” He came sliding down the shrouds, landing atop the rail, keeping his gun trained on Aziraphale the whole time. Aziraphale felt the tip of his sword trembling and tightened his grip on the hilt. He had seen battle many times, but something about this rogue made him weak in the knees.

“Come on, then, drop it,” the pirate’s voice was low, cajoling. Almost friendly. “You must see I’ve outmatched you. I’ll shoot you where you stand before you can land a scratch.”

Aziraphale swelled to his full height, brimming with indignation. “Never! I’m a lieutenant in the King’s navy, and I will defend this ship!”

The brigand smirked. “And who will defend you, you toothsome thing?” He slid down the shrouds to the deck and knocked Aziraphale’s sword away with his pistol before he had time to breathe. Aziraphale gaped in outrage as his weapon clattered to the deck. Golden eyes raked him from stem to stern. “I begin to think I have better uses for you than fishbait.” A hot hand ran down the side of Aziraphale’s face and then fisted in his coat. “Perhaps you would better serve me on your knees.”

“Crowley, be careful,” Aziraphale whispered, “this is an authentic Naval dress coat from 1789!”

Crowley unclenched his fist, but retained his smirk. “Nicked it from the museum, did you?”

Already hot under the collar, Aziraphale wiggled uneasily, feeling a flush spread across his cheeks. “I consider it a temporary loan.” 

“So long as the trousers aren’t antiques,” Crowley muttered, caressing Aziraphale’s face again. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “Hey. Still good?”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Tickety-boo, my love.” He cleared his throat. “I will never serve you, you -- foul fiend!” he declared stoutly.

“Oh, you will, pet.” Crowley -- the pirate -- snarled, holstering his gun. Aziraphale’s eyes followed the movement, dropping to the narrow hips swathed in tight trousers, an unmistakable bulge straining at the buttons. The man grabbed Aziraphale by the hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. With his other hand, he unfastened his own flies. “You will.”

“N-no! No, please…” Aziraphale begged, feeling himself swell and tighten in his drawers as the scourge of the seas, with his seductive eyes and red sneering lips, forced him inexorably down onto the deck.

The wood was hard under his knees as he watched the rough, callused hand withdraw a long, stiff cock from the black trousers. The fingers tore Aziraphale’s hair and he gasped, just as the pirate laid the tip of his cock against Aziraphale’s lower lip. “Take it. Or know the pain of my revenge, swab.”

And then Aziraphale, who had never known the love of a man, found his mouth full of the salty, firm, and filthy cock of a depraved buccaneer. He moaned in anguish as the man shoved forward on his tongue.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” the pirate grunted. “Oh, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes watered, and he tingled, swollen and wet between his own thighs. The force of the man’s thrusts made him scrabble for purchase against the smooth deck. In desperation he grabbed the man’s tight hips, his fingers sinking into the slight flesh of his arse. This only pushed the pirate’s cock deeper into Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale tried to swallow as saliva dribbled out.

“Look at you,” the brigand quavered, “what -- unhn -- what a mess!”

Aziraphale, who felt himself dripping from every orifice, could hardly disagree. He was hot and degraded and had never felt so disgusting in his life. It was wonderful. Horrible, it was horrible.

“Makes a fellow think, that does. Mmm, yeah. How’d -- ah -- how’d you take it -- nnngg -- up your pretty arse?”

A keen of anguish tried to escape Aziraphale’s throat, but was trapped there by the pirate’s prick, emerging as little more than a gargle as he struggled to take the slick hot weight.

“Oh, yeah, I like the sound of that. Get off.” The man’s rough hands yanked him away, and he fell to the deck on all fours, gasping for breath, licking the taste of him from his lips. Suddenly he felt a pressure between his legs, cold and hard, the toe of the man’s boot nudging up against his most sensitive places. A thrill ran through Aziraphale and in spite of himself he felt the muscles in his pelvis clench. “Get up. And get that coat off. Show me what you’ve got for me.”

Staggering to his feet, Aziraphale stripped off the coat and laid it carefully on the yardarm. His back was to the brigand, and he could not stop the crackles of tension down his spine as he felt himself exposed, unarmed, with this villain behind him. He was outraged and vulnerable. “You’ll never get away with this,” he fumed. “Good always triumphs over evil in the end.”

“And what a fine end it is,” the man sneered from alarmingly close behind him, running his hands over Aziraphale’s bottom in a proprietary way. Then he pressed himself against Aziraphale, the long lithe heat of him strong like steel, while he reached around to undo Aziraphale’s buttons. Aziraphale clawed at his hands, trying to stop him. “Ah, none of that, lubber. I see you’ll have to be restrained before you’re seen to.”

Aziraphale’s wrists were seized in a hard grip and he was dragged to the mast, and before he could say Jack Robinson the pirate had jerked down his trousers and underclothes and lashed him to it, arms wrapped round and tied together. A rope round his middle and thighs kept his hips and...other things...pressed against the fife rail, his desperate thighs astride a jutting belaying pin. He was exposed to the salt air and the nasty man’s depravity. He felt hot breath in his ear, making him shiver. “You can’t escape now, struggle how you might,” the man murmured, low and lewd. “I’ve got you. You’re _mine_.”

“No,” Aziraphale moaned in horrified exhilaration. There was a moment’s pause, a warm hand laid on his hip, familiar and solicitous. Then two hard thumbs pried him apart, and then he felt a cold slickness at his untried hole. He flinched and sobbed as something warm and nimble opened him up, a stretching feeling and then an aching fullness that made him gasp with a shocking yearning, and then it was gone. Aziraphale struggled for a moment in desperation and then remembered his line. “Please, oh, _please_!”

“Fffuck, yes,” the pirate growled, and an unimaginable immensity of pressure and heat filled Aziraphale in one slow but hearty thrust. Aziraphale wailed as he was breached, pinned like an insect to a board against the implacable mast, the unforgiving curve of the belaying pin. The twin sensations fore and aft raised a delirium in his brain and turned his legs to jelly.

One of the pirate’s big hands wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulder, the other gripped his hip bruisingly as he worked for his own pleasure in fast, shallow thrusts that seemed to strike something like a flint inside Aziraphale, a spot that made sparks, kindling a roaring flame. His delicate parts were forced against the wood again and again and this too fed the fire. Aziraphale’s face, turned to one side against the weather-worn mast, burned with shame, horror, and delight.

“Knew you’d take it like a strumpet,” the pirate grunted, hastening his thrusts as Aziraphale worked his hips in helpless resistance, rocking between the man’s relentless cock and the unyielding wood, twin poles of pleasure and punishment. Though he was all innocence, Aziraphale knew some sort of glorious and humiliating crisis loomed on the horizon. He could feel it building inside him.

“Unhand that officer, you swine!” came a bold voice from close by.

“Curse you,” his assailant growled, releasing Aziraphale from his foul clutches.

“Praise the Lord,” Aziraphale gasped in  ~~ frustration ~~ salvation, as the dread sensations drained away from his despoiled body. He heard a scuffle behind him but could see nothing, as his face was still pressed against the mast.

“You’ve pillaged your last, rapscallion, for it is I, Crowley, the Scarlet Pimpernel, hero of the seas and scourge of all villainy!”

Aziraphale pressed his face more firmly against the mast as giggles threatened to overset him. Scarlet Pimpernel? What on earth was Crowley thinking?

“Alas, the Scarlet Pimpernel! Many a time have I heard tales of your derring do. But I fear ye not, for I am the deadliest blade from here to the Indies.”

“Then draw, knave and braggart, that I may best you.”

Crowley was doing a reasonable job at throwing his voice, almost making it seem as though there were two men arguing behind Aziraphale’s back, but he was having a hard time managing to keep their characters separate -- the hero was starting to creep into the pirate -- and his vocabulary was increasingly dubious.

“Avast!” 

The clank of steel on steel reverberated off the hull and deck, and the men’s grunts filled Aziraphale’s ears.

Clang!

“Oof!”

“Hah! First blood!”

“I’ll have you, fiend!”

Thump! Smack! Clang, clang, clang!

“Ow!”

At one point, Crowley, in a white shirt and very handsome scarlet coat, hopped up on the mainyard with an “Aha!” and executed some fancy footwork where Aziraphale could see, holding off his opponent just out of view.

“I’ve got you now, rascal,” he cried, leaping down onto the deck. He was sweaty and out of breath, his hair flown out of its queue, and he really did look very handsome and heroic. Aziraphale decided to get back into the spirit of the thing.

“Spare his life, I beg you, Scarlet Pimpernel!”

“Are you sure, Lieutenant? After what he did to you, this beast deserves swift and brutal justice.”

“Is that a reason good and true, why you, should all be deaf to pity’s name?” Aziraphale trilled before he could stop himself.

Crowley, behind him, made a strangled noise. Then he thrust his head over Aziraphale’s shoulder, his arm around his own throat and his hair clutched in his own fist. “Before I clap him in irons and march him to the brig, would you like to spit in his face?” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale smiled. “But thank you so very much for asking.”

“Right. Down you go, you scoundrel!” Clanking of chains and a very elaborate pattern of rhythmic thumping announced the pirate had been safely dispatched belowdecks. Splendid. Aziraphale’s heart swelled with pleasure and pride. Crowley really was taking to this quite magnificently, just as Aziraphale had suspected he would. “Now, Lieutenant, allow me to assist you.” The ropes fell away, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s steadying presence at his side.

“Please, call me Aziraphale,” he said, and swooned in his rescuer’s arms.

* * *

Aziraphale felt remarkably comfortable. He was lying on something soft, he was warm and out of the wind, and his boots had been removed. He wiggled his toes and sighed, fluttering his eyes open to see the snug furnishings of the captain’s cabin around him.

“Ah, there you are.”

“Am I...is this…?”

“Just rest now, Lieutenant Aziraphale.” The dashing Crowley stood next to him where he lay on the Captain’s bunk, leaning over him solicitously. “It’s all over,” he said gently. “You’re safe.”

“Safe,” Aziraphale murmured, looking down at himself in wonder. His collar had been loosened, but his breeches were discreetly done up, all his clothing put back in order. The coat was hanging carefully over the back of the captain’s chair. He looked up at this Scarlet Pimpernel fellow, gallant in his burgundy coat, his rusty hair flowing over his shoulders, golden eyes soft and sensitive. Aziraphale pondered all he had been through, to bring him to this moment, and all that might be yet to come. “I am so very grateful to you,” he said, meaning it.

The gentleman’s throat worked for a moment. Then he threw Aziraphale a hasty smile. “Ah, all in a day’s work for the Scarlet Pimpernel!”

“Please,” Aziraphale continued, starting to rise, “you must let me --”

“Now, now, don’t try to get up.” A big, tender hand splayed across his chest and pushed him back into the pillow. Aziraphale placed his own hand over it, feeling the warmth and tension in it. He licked his lips and tried again.

“You saved my life today. I know I can never repay you. But you must let me try to make some recompense.” He pressed the gentleman’s hand against his breast. His heart was starting to beat faster as Aziraphale caught his scent, rich and smoky on the salt air. The Scarlet Pimpernel was well-favoured, with a strong jaw and well-cut cheekbones, a nose that spoke of royalty, a forehead that claimed intelligence and character. His lips, uncommonly rosy, were parted. And oh, those eyes.

“Seems to me you’ve paid dearly today already,” he said, his forehead creasing with concern. “I regret I didn’t get here sooner." 

Aziraphale melted into the bed, feeling his cheeks go pink at the memory of his humiliation. “I’m -- quite all right, I assure you. In fact,” he gave the gentleman a sly little look as he stroked the back of his hand, “I feel remarkably well.”

“I rejoice to hear it,” the Pimpernel said, bringing Aziraphale’s hand smoothly to his lips. He pressed a hot little kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles. “In that case, I’ll be off.”

“Off! But I’m -- but you haven’t --”

“Yes, yes, loads of people to rescue.” Crowley dropped his hand and stood up, turning toward the door. “Got to get your captain and crew looked after, for a start -- you didn’t forget about them, did you?” He turned back with a wink.

“Oh, but surely --” Aziraphale burst out in frustration.

“You’re terrible,” Crowley grinned.

“Don’t break character.”

“You started it.” With a chuckle, Crowley approached Aziraphale again. “All right. I’ve rescued the whole crew. Your captain sustained a nasty wound when the ship was boarded and is recovering in sickbay. He sends his regards and says he has no objection to you bunking here for the night.” Crowley nodded at the bunk. “May I?”

“Please sit, sir. It’s the very least I can offer you.”

“Call me Crowley,” he said.

“Crowley. Your hand seems to be wandering.”

“I beg your pardon, Aziraphale. When you smile like that, I forget myself.”

“Then I shall have to go on smiling,” Aziraphale said, once again covering Crowley’s hand where it rested, this time on his thigh. “For you, my hero.”

He heard the catch in Crowley’s breath in that, saw the flush on his neck above the high collar of his coat. And then he saw nothing, his eyes closing as the brave, noble Crowley leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Crowley’s mouth was warm and tender, and Aziraphale trembled under it, opening in a sigh at this surprising yet welcome intimacy. He received in shock the barest flicker of Crowley’s tongue over his inner lip, the sensation making him gasp. Crowley’s smoky, virile scent filled his lungs and Aziraphale felt himself blush furiously. Crowley brushed his scorching cheek with the backs of his fingers and broke the kiss.

“I must apologise again, I see,” he murmured, his golden gaze flicking from Aziraphale’s mouth to his eyes, “for taking such liberties.”

Aziraphale, heart pounding, lips tingling, arched his back like a wanton and knew no fear. “I - I would that you would make free with me always,” he said softly. “For though the pirate has stolen my virtue, it is you who have captured my heart.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly, and the flush on his neck crept over his face. “My angel,” he whispered, kneeling on the bunk and sweeping Aziraphale into his arms. His lips moved over Aziraphale’s again, hot and insistent now, and Aziraphale opened for him with glad intent, moaning as Crowley’s tongue played along his own. From Crowley’s throat there came a low, strained sound, somehow both of satisfaction and yearning, that made Aziraphale pulse between his legs.

Aziraphale wound a hand into Crowley’s disheveled mane, the cool rough strands giving way to the heat of Crowley’s head under his tightening fingers. Crowley positively _growled_ then, burying his face in Aziraphale’s throat, dragging his blunt teeth gently over the bared skin as Aziraphale shivered under his hot breath. Crowley claimed his lips again, and then moved down to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, kissing as he went. Aziraphale’s whole skin was alight, sensitive to every caress as he watched the regal head with its carmine waves dip down again and again to press open kisses against his chest and belly. The bright eyes fixed on him keenly, a hint of a smile crow-footing at their corners.

“Oh, oh, my darling.”

“All right, Aziraphale?”

“I have never known such pleasure.” Aziraphale blushed furiously. It wasn’t true -- but then again, it was.

Crowley leant up on one elbow and lifted Aziraphale’s hand, where it had been clenching the blanket. He placed a kiss into the palm, sending a shudder up Aziraphale’s arm. “Then, if I am to have the honour of being your first, it’s only fair to tell you that you are my first: the only one I love, or have ever loved.” 

Aziraphale could not keep the melting smile from his face. He pressed Crowley’s hand urgently, and Crowley kissed it again, then kissed his lips -- oh, so hungrily now -- and then pushed Aziraphale’s shirt aside to take a nipple into his mouth. Aziraphale keened and craned up into the wet, aching pull of it, scrabbling at Crowley’s back with both hands. Crowley tended to the other nipple, passing his agile tongue over it again and again and then grazing it with tiny bites until the gathering tension made Aziraphale writhe. “Please, please…”

Crowley lifted his head and slid his hand to cover the placket of Aziraphale’s trouser buttons. Before he could stop himself, Aziraphale tilted his hips into the slight pressure and heat of his palm. “Are you certain?” Crowley asked.

Flustered, and inwardly rolling his eyes at Crowley’s commitment to his character even as he glowed at the consideration, Aziraphale stammered, “Ye-yes, Crowley.” Then gaining speed, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Crowley smiled then, a touch of smugness in it as he worked the buttons open, slid his trousers and underclothes down and, at last, got his hand on Aziraphale’s sex. Aziraphale gasped and sank heavily back into the pillow as knowledgeable long fingers slowly began to stroke him, coating him in his own slickness. A delicate yet piercing pleasure suffused Aziraphale’s senses and he rocked under Crowley’s hand. “Ah, sweetheart, how beautiful you look when I touch you,” Crowley crooned. 

A wave of yearning washed over Aziraphale. He bit his lip against the rising tide of sensation as Crowley’s hand moved faster, still an affectionate caress, responsive to every little sound or shift of Aziraphale’s hips. Delight built inexorably in all of Aziraphale’s most tender places and he yearned for this to go on and on, for Crowley to touch him like this for ever -- but also for something he could not name, for more. He sought Crowley’s lips and Crowley leant down to kiss him, then to kiss and bite his throat again as he moved those delicate fingers with growing intensity, harder, all perfection, until something inside Aziraphale shattered and he cried out, spasming with ecstasy into Crowley’s hand.

Time slowed down as Aziraphale panted. He could feel Crowley hard against him, could feel their hearts hammering against one another, could feel Crowley’s hand draped gently atop his sensitive sex, hot and wet and quiet. He was suffused with happiness.

“I am utterly undone,” he murmured into Crowley’s ear. “You have mastered me.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley said, settling between his splayed thighs and divesting him of the rest of his clothes. “I am your most humble servant. By Jove, you are gorgeous.”

Aziraphale felt he had done nothing but blush all day. “You know, I shouldn’t mind getting to see what you look like,” he said. 

A wry twist of a smile played at Crowley’s lips. “Oh, I’m nothing much. But as you wish.” Crowley made quick work of his coat and shirt, and Aziraphale, tiring of the pretense, made grasping gestures until Crowley lay down upon him. Aziraphale sighed happily at the blessedly intimate sensation of Crowley’s naked chest and belly against his own. Then he reached down and began working Crowley’s flies.

Crowley lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s breaking character?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Very well. ‘Take your pleasure with me, Scarlet Pimpernel! Quickly! Before I die!’”

Crowley smothered his laugh into Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale could feel him shaking with it even as he took his prick out. It was hot and stiff in his hand, the weight of it familiar but no less wanted and adored for that. Crowley’s laughter turned into a groan as Aziraphale handled him, and suddenly Aziraphale wanted it very badly indeed.

“I owe you my life,” he said, as Crowley’s clever fingers opened him up. He was still slick and instantly aching, the hard and tender rightness of Crowley’s touch making him clench greedily, all heat and craving within. He looked up to see Crowley’s face wild with need, eyes wide and gold to their edges. “Your courage and dedication have saved me,” Aziraphale moaned as he rocked against Crowley’s fingers. Crowley shut his eyes then and echoed his moan. “Now come -- and take -- what is yours --”

Aziraphale had but a moment to regret the loss of Crowley’s fingers before he knew the glory of his cock, strong and hot, sliding slowly inside him. “Oh,” they both gasped together, and stilled for a moment at the wonder of it. Crowley held one of Aziraphale’s thighs, but trailed his other hand down the side of his face. Aziraphale turned his head to kiss his palm, then met his eyes and nodded slightly, making a tiny encouraging motion with his hips.

“Sweetheart,” said Crowley, as he began the most luscious slow thrusts, “Ah, you precious thing.” His voice was a low, broken caress. 

“Oh, my heaven!” Aziraphale cried, rocking into Crowley as bright flashes of pleasure crackled through him like lightning, “No one has -- ah -- ever made me feel -- oh -- this way before.”

In delighted amazement, Aziraphale felt the gathering tide rising in him again, and as if he could feel it too, Crowley moved to caress him again. Aziraphale wailed in desperate exultation as the twinned bliss took him even higher. Crowley tilted his hips and increased his intensity until he was pounding into Aziraphale, and they both cried out with every downstroke. Aziraphale revelled in the glorious fullness, the way Crowley was touching again and again the very center of him, the place deep inside where time stopped and all was delirium and rapture. Even as he thought he wanted to stay in this place for ever, Aziraphale shouted as he exploded in joy. 

He felt Crowley pulsing within him as he, too, shouted aloud. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and held him tightly, even as Crowley continued to drive into him again and again, wringing the last shudders of pleasure from both of them. Aziraphale kissed his face, his ears, his throat, anywhere he could reach.

“The life-debt is mutual, you know,” Crowley said, after a few moments. He lifted his head and held Aziraphale’s gaze steadily, his expression sober. “For you too have captured my heart, and I hope never to have it back again.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat and tears stung his eyes. “You never will, my love,” he said, gathering Crowley to his bosom and kissing him feverishly. “I’ve got you. You’re _mine.”_

Crowley’s arms tightened around him and he returned the kiss, then laid his head back down with a sigh. “So. It was all right, then?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You know perfectly well it was much better than all right.” He stroked Crowley’s hair. “I very -- very much appreciate how willing you were to -- to do -- all that I asked,” he finished weakly.

“All in a day’s work for the Scarlet Pimpernel,” Crowley mumbled into his chest.

“You do realise that the Scarlet Pimpernel rescued aristocrats from the guillotine?”

“And didn’t I do that for you, once upon a time?” 

Aziraphale felt the smile breaking across his face. “You did, didn’t you.”

“See, not as daft as I look.”

“Oh, I don’t know, dear, that business with you defeating yourself in a swordfight was really --”

“Hang on a bit, I thought that was clever!”

“Well --”

“Listen, angel, if I’m to haul us all the way to Greenwich in bloody costume --”

“It’s not as if Greenwich is very far. You always enjoy a visit to the observatory. And I think you rather liked swaggering about in these clothes.”

“My point is --”

The sound of footsteps on deck interrupted their quarrel. Aziraphale glanced through the porthole. Dawn had broken more than an hour ago by the look of things. “Oh, dear,” he said.

Crowley smiled at him wickedly “They’re going to chuck you right out of the Royal Historical Society for this,” he said, clicking his fingers to restore the cabin, and their clothes, to order.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Aziraphale said primly, buttoning his collar. “Oh, Crowley, the coat!”

“Leave it to me,” Crowley said, leaning in to steal a kiss. He clicked again, and the relic disappeared, miracled back to its rightful place in the museum.

“My hero,” Aziraphale said softly, and caught Crowley’s eyes, warm and happy, before he donned his dark glasses. 

Holding hands, they winked off the historic Cutty Sark before the first tourists of the day could discover them.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks, as always, to [juliet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliet) for their excellent beta services (in this case, for knowing a hell of a lot more about tall ships than I do). And to the Slow Show Support Group on Tumblr for making enthusiastic noises whenever I mentioned working on pirate porn.


End file.
